


A Winchester Carol

by lotrspnfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon 15x7, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Character Death In Dream, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl
Summary: ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the bunker,The laughing was making Dean wish he were drunker.He was angry and moody and hadn’t a careThen John Winchester, in chains, came with his stare…
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59
Collections: Destiel Writers & Readers





	1. Winchester Chained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grumpyphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/gifts).



> Huge shout out to Eloise_Enchanted for betaing this for me (and being ever patient!!), to Cas for cheering me on and holding my hand when I needed it, and to Lisa for reading it over even though it was Destiel! 
> 
> This is one of my rare attempts at canon-divergence, so I hope it works out well ♥
> 
> Merry Christmas, Autumn! Thank you for being such a fantastic friend.

“ _Happy Holidays… Happy Holidays…_ ”

Dean clenched his jaw tight as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. He should just stay quiet, let Cas enjoy his newfound love for the classic Christmas songs Sam has been playing relentlessly, and yet -

“ _While the merry bells keep ringing, may your-_ ”

“And what exactly is so ‘happy’ and ‘merry’ about Mom and Jack being gone?”

Despite not turning around to look at him, Dean _heard_ Cas’ jaw snap shut and could picture his expression perfectly. His eyes would’ve widened at first, then narrowed: Dean could feel the weight of them on his back. 

“I can see Sam’s eggnog has done nothing for your mood,” Castiel replied coolly and Dean did turn around for that. 

“Excuse me?” 

Dean’s brow raised as he watched Cas widen his stance, preparing himself for a fight. It made something inside Dean twist in a fit of guilt and anguish, hating that Cas was standing in the bunker kitchen, their _home_ , preparing himself for battle. It was quickly drowned out with his stomach full of whiskey-soaked-nog and anger. 

“I think Sam had hoped making you that treat would get you in a… ‘holiday mood’.” Castiel lifted his fingers for the air quotes, but Dean was focused on the smirk on his lips. It wasn’t amusement, it was angry. “I told him-” Castiel suddenly shook his head, turning away to open the fridge.

“You told him what?” Dean demanded, fingers itching at his sides. 

Castiel re-emerged with a fresh bowl of dip and turned back around to meet Dean’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered with a heavy sigh. “I have no intention of fighting with you tonight, Dean. This is my Christmas, too.”

“Oh, so you’re actually planning on sticking around?” Dean asked, turning his body to follow Cas as he walked back towards the stairs into the library. He swiped the bottle of Jack Daniels off the table, pouring a healthy amount into his glass. 

“Sam asked me to,” Castiel answered, straightening his shoulders. “He said it wouldn’t be right if I wasn’t here.”

“Since when do you give a shit?”

Dean watched Castiel’s knuckles turn white as he gripped the dip bowl harder. His eyes narrowed again, giving Dean a look that would’ve terrified a weaker man. But he wasn’t afraid of Cas, not anymore. Not of anything the angel could inflict on him physically. 

“I have _always_ ‘given a shit’. How dare you think-”

“Have you?” Dean interrupted, taking a large sip from his glass. “Did you give a shit when you kept Jack’s behavior from us? When you killed Belphegor? When you-”

“I am not having this conversation with you tonight, Dean.”

Dean glared at him, twisting the glass in his hands. Sam seemed completely gung-ho, ready to forgive Cas for his role in Mary’s death, in Rowena’s, but Dean _wasn’t_. Cas wasn’t going to be able to just walk away from this conversation forever. 

“You know,” Cas started and Dean looked up, half wondering if Cas had changed his mind. Dean placed the glass down on the table; he was just clear enough to have this conversation now, if that’s what Cas was aiming for. 

“I have always given a shit, Dean. I turned my back on my brothers and sisters, forsaken my heaven and God for you and your brother. And I have never, for a single moment, regretted that. I have been first in line as your personal punching bag, the one you easily lay blame to, despite me making mistakes and decisions similar to those you and Sam yourselves have made. I have watched you fail and fall and picked you up, lent you support, believed in you… and never been given the same courtesy. Instead, I’ve been insulted and ostracized, second guessed and handled with ‘kid gloves’. I refuse to play that game any longer. 

“Sam is my family, too. He’s the only family that I have. And yes, I intend on spending my Christmas with him and Eileen, and I intend on enjoying myself for a single moment in which I am treated, in return, as family.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat thick. “Yeah?” Dean snorted and picked up the glass again, needing something to do with his hands, something in his mouth before he said something stupid. “And what does that make me?”

Castiel stared at him for a moment, his mouth parting before snapping shut again. Dean tried to ignore the beating of his heart.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Dean slammed back the rest of his drink as Castiel left him alone at the table.

\---

“Dean, Eileen finished stringing up the popcorn and cranberries, want to help her hang it?”

Dean glanced up, raised his glass, and shook his head. “You’re taller than I am, Sam.

\---

“Dean, we’re almost out of dip. Come get it while it’s hot!”

“Thanks, Eileen, I’m good with this.”

Eileen narrowed her eyes at the half empty bottle but sighed and left with her bag of chips.

\---

“Dean-”

“No.”

\---

“Dean… is this what you’re going to do all night?”

Dean snorted, pouring another shot of Jack and looking up at his brother in the doorway. “Yup,” he answered, popping the ‘p’ before downing the liquid. It didn’t even burn anymore. He checked the bottle and clicked his tongue; he needed to get another. 

Sam sighed and Dean jumped as the chair beside him was pulled out, the legs scraping against the tile. 

He waited a beat, Sam’s gaze heavy. He counted backwards from three and then Sam broke the silence. “Cas is leav-”

“I knew it!” Dean yelled, jerking his arm out and sloshing half his drink on Sam’s reindeer pants. Eileen had insisted they all get holiday pajamas — Dean’s were laying over the back of his chair. “Sorry Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes, standing up to get a wad of paper towels to mop up his crotch. From the glower thrown his way, Dean knew he wasn’t successful. He snorted again and leaned back in the chair. “I knew he wasn’t going to stick around,” Dean muttered, watching as Sam paused in his movements, glancing up at him.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Just, nothing.” Dean shook his head and kicked Sam’s chair back with his foot. “I just knew Cas wasn’t going to stick around. He _never_ -”

“Dean?” Sam asked, coming up behind him and placing his hand on the back of Dean’s chair. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded his head, swallowing hard, “room’s spinning a bit.”

Sam sighed and reached over Dean’s shoulder, taking the bottle and glass from him, depositing both in the sink. “Well, I was going to ask if you needed me to tell him to pick anything up, but, I think you should switch to some water or something.”

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the sudden wave of dizziness washing over him. Sam said something behind him, but Dean’s ears were ringing too loudly to hear anything else.

\---

Dean groaned, pushing his head up from the table and blinking the sleep from his eyes. His head was already pounding and he reached out, searching for the bottle before he remembered Sam had taken it from him.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, sitting up straight and ignoring the heaviness in his head. If there was no alcohol readily available, there was no point in being awake. What the hell had woken him anyways?

The dull yellow light was on over the stove, but it barely cast its glow over at the table he was sitting at. A shiver went up Dean’s spine, making him twist around in the chair, eyes narrowed as he peered around the kitchen.

The sound of metal scraping against the floor made him jump and he shoved back from the table, knocking over the chair he’d been sitting in with a loud crash. His socks slid across the tile as he reached for the container of salt and stopped short as the apparition suddenly blinked into existence before him.

He exhaled sharply, his breath hanging heavy and frozen in the air. He blinked hard, reaching for the side of the island counter to steady himself. 

“Dad?”

John Winchester flickered once, twice, then stood before him. He was pale, thick double-linked chains winding around his chest and hips, dragging against the tile like a tail. They shimmered gold, flashing as they touched his skin with a soft sizzle of heat and smoke. Dean opened his mouth to ask how on Earth a ghost could be draped in iron chains and still appear corporeal, but realized there was a more pressing question. 

“Why… We burned your body.”

John nodded his head slowly, the movement making the chains slide against the side of his throat. Dean winced as he watched them spark. John stopped nodding and just stared, silence spreading between them. Behind his father, the overhead light of the stove flickered once. 

“I don’t… understand,” Dean said after a moment. “Why are you here?”

“You are making grave mistakes, son,” John answered, his voice echoing through Dean’s head, though he didn’t speak louder than a whisper. “Mistakes I learned far too late.”

“This isn’t real,” Dean replied, taking a step back. His hand moved blindly behind him, but John caught the movement and blitzed out of existence. Dean gasped as his back hit something cool and solid, the chains on his father’s body hissing like snakes as they lifted to wind around his outstretched arm. 

“This will be you, Dean,” John whispered and Dean jerked back violently, tripping over the pajama pants that had fallen when the chair had been knocked over, and finding himself sprawled over the kitchen floor. 

“Each chain is heavy, a debt I will never repay. I lived out most of my life in search of revenge, forsaking the life I was given, forsaking you and your brother. And where did it get me, Dean? Where?” 

John took a step forward, the chains hissing and scraping on the tile. Dean stared up at him in horror, watching as his father’s skin seemed to melt away, burned and flayed off from his years in hell, his body twisting and morphing until it was unrecognizable. Except for his eyes. 

Dean would know his father’s eyes anywhere. 

They stayed locked on Dean’s own, full of so much emotion it made Dean’s own stomach twist. John’s voice was still in his head, “I missed out on the best parts of life, these chains are my burden to bear, don’t make them yours.”

The sound of hissing made Dean gasp and he looked down to see the chains winding around his pant leg, seconds before he felt the sting of their burn. They moved up his body, twisting and igniting as John’s voice got louder in his head. 

Someone was screaming, and Dean realized it was him, his fingers feeling like they were electrocuted as he tried to pry the chains from his body. 

“You will have three chances, three lessons I could never teach, to get yourself on a different path.”

He gasped as John’s voice was suddenly gone, the silence snapping around him like a rubber band, pressing in on him even harder than the chains had been. Everything in the kitchen was still, silent. The light over the stove flickered in its yellow haze once, twice, and then Dean closed his eyes and succumbed to darkness.


	2. Family is First

A dull, throbbing ache was the first thing Dean was aware of, though the pain wasn’t coming from the pounding behind his eyes, but from his leg. Then, discomfort began to bleed through his entire body, making him realize he was laying flat on his back on the kitchen floor.

He groaned and reached blindly for the edge of the table, grabbing it as leverage to haul himself up into a sitting position. He reached down and pulled his pant leg up, hissing out loud as he saw the dark, raised imprint of chains snaking up from his ankle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching down to run his fingers over the marks. 

“Looks painful, brotha.”

Dean jumped, shoving his good leg against the tile to push himself backwards. His back hit the wall, giving himself full view of the kitchen, his backside protected. At the far end of the table, Benny sat, his head leaning against his fist, a bored expression on his face. 

“Didn’t think you were ever gonna wake up.”

“This isn’t happening,” Dean replied, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes. When he opened them again, Benny was staring back at him, looking slightly more amused. The pounding behind Dean’s eyes only increased it’s pressure. 

“You gonna sit down there on the floor all night, or are you going to stand up and greet me proper?” Benny asked after a moment. 

“I don’t… why are you here?” Dean replied, hesitating for a moment before pulling himself up from the ground. If Benny honestly wanted to hurt him, he would’ve had ample opportunity when Dean was passed out cold on the floor. He ignored the twisting in his gut that _something was wrong_ and instead, picked up the chair he’d knocked over when his father was there and sat down across from Benny. 

“Didn’t John tell you? I’m the first of your three lessons. We gotta get going, too, if we don’t want this to take all night.” Benny lifted his arm, his skin strange and translucent, and he appeared to be looking at a watch that wasn’t there. He chuckled to himself and then met Dean’s eyes. “You ready? It’s going to be Christmas morning before we know it.”

Benny clicked his tongue as Dean stared, shaking his head. His entire being was swaying in and out of Dean’s vision, as if his entire body was like the waves of an ocean, constantly shifting and moving. He was unlike any type of spirit he or Sam had ever encountered before… He drank too much, way too much, before Sam managed to take away the bottle of Jack. It was the only explanation… 

“Dean, come on. Get a glass of water, take a leak, whatever you need to do. But then we have to go. We’re on a schedule, you know.” Benny stood, reaching over to pat Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s entire body felt as if it were plunged head first into a bucket of ice, and he found himself gasping for air. “I’m here to show you Christmas Past.”

“You’re here to show me --” Dean cut himself off, jerking back as Benny reached for him again. He glared up at his former friend and shook his head. “Christmas Past? What is this, the fucking Christmas Carol? Are you _kidding me_?”

“Your father told you, Dean. You will have three lessons to lea-”

“Christmas fucking past.” Dean laughed, the sound sharp and violent as he stood and made his way to the sink. He ripped open the cabinet to the left, pulling out a glass and filling it, taking a deep sip before turning around to glare at Benny. “What the hell does that make me, huh?” 

“Well, you ain’t exactly Father Christmas,” Benny replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Though, you might give The Grinch a run for his money, I ain’t about to sing that damn who-song.” 

“So what does that make Sam? Or Cas?” Dean snorted, shaking his head as he finished off the water and dropped the glass into the sink. “Cas is fucking Tiny Tim, isn’t he?” 

“You sure as hell treat him like he’s broken, brotha,” Benny answered, blitzing forward so he was standing before Dean and gave him a pointed look. “Though, he’s got the best lesson of all.”

“You don’t know shit, Benny,” Dean hissed, pointing a finger in the center of his chest. He shivered as the feeling of ice washed over him once more and he drew his hand back, folding it over his chest. 

“I know it’s a far cry from ‘Where’s the angel?’.”

Dean ignored the rise of bile in his stomach and he twisted away from Benny, facing the wall. “You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Dean whispered.

There was a moment of hesitation, then he felt Benny’s presence close to his back, sending a shiver up his spine. “I’m not the one hallucinating ghosts of Christmas. I’d say it's _your_ mind that’s scrambled.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond but was met with a swooping sensation, deep in the pit of his stomach, a wave of ice moving down his spine. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the landing. As his knees jammed into the solid ground, Dean missed the way Castiel had learned to let them down… 

The air around them was silent but cold, making Dean open his eyes and step forward, checking that Benny wasn’t still touching him. The man in question wasn’t near Dean at all, standing a few feet ahead of him, leaning against the siding of a large, light green house. Dean swallowed hard as he looked around the yard, realizing where they were. 

“You can stand there all night,” Benny said softly, his voice carrying perfectly over to Dean despite their distance. “I have nowhere else to be, brotha. But we can’t move forward until you do this.” 

Dean considered calling his bluff, had half a mind to sit himself cross-legged in the middle of the street and cross his arms like a child. He wondered if he waited long enough, the sun would come up, ending this nightmare with it’s warm rays. Somehow, Dean doubted it. 

His throat was dry, nausea washing through him as he found himself looking up to the bedroom window where their entire lives had changed. After helping Jenny and her family, after having Mom back... he thought this damn house would lose its power. But Dean’s eyes remained locked on the dark window, expecting the shadowy figure of Azazel to be standing there, looking down on him with his bright yellow gaze. 

As he took his place beside Benny, the sound of Bing Crosby singing White Christmas could be heard. Dean glanced at Benny, waiting for his friend to nod his head, before stepping fully in front of the window and looking into the living room. 

In the far corner, a fat, fresh Christmas tree stood, decorated with popsicle stick reindeer and clay handprints, large golden and red baubles. There was silver tinsel sprinkled across the branches, twinkling with the blinking colored lights, stray pieces littering the floor with pine needles. Dean found himself inhaling, as if he could smell the pine or the freshly baked cookies he could see sitting on a plate on the coffee table. 

The music was coming from the TV, a younger Mary Winchester singing along to the song as she sat cross legged in front of it, Dean sitting in her lap. He couldn’t have been more than three and it hit him then that this was the last Christmas he’d had in Lawrence. 

“Ho, Ho, Ho!” 

Dean watched as his own eyes lit up, his little hands shaking with excitement as he gripped his mother’s hands. “Mama! It’s _Santa_!”

“Hush,” Mary whispered, smiling against the back of Dean’s hair. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and stood, pretending to sneak off to the corner of the room. She crouched behind the large box TV, pulling Dean against her chest. 

“Shhhhh,” child Dean whispered loudly, pushing his finger to Mary’s lips as she did the same to him. Mary’s eyes were shining, her smile radiant, and it made Dean’s chest ache. 

“Oh! Cookies!” Dean forced himself to tear his eyes away from himself and his mother, watching as John came stomping into the living room, dressed from head to toe in a Santa costume. He carried a large green sack and placed it beside the tree as he walked into the center of the room to pick up a cookie. “All seems quiet,” John said in a stage whisper, looking around the room. “Good little boys must be in bed! Time to get to work…”

Dean glanced over to see himself as a child staring in wonder at Santa Claus, taking his time to place each present perfectly underneath the tree. Then he filled the stockings hanging by the fake, construction paper fireplace taped against the wall by the tree. John stopped and took a handful of cookies before he picked up the bag and started back out the front door. 

“Daddy will _never_ believe it!” child Dean whispered as soon as the front door shut, turning excitedly to grab Mary’s face between his little fingers. “Daddy _missed_ it!” 

Mary laughed and kissed Dean’s forehead, picking him up into her arms. “Alright, Mister. I let you stay up way too late.”

“But Mama!” Dean argued, trying to wiggle out of Mary’s arms, despite the yawn taking over half his face. “Can’t we wait for Daddy to get home from work and open presents?”

“No,” Mary answered with a laugh, reaching down to pick up a few cookies. “But you can eat two more cookies and get into bed, how does that sound? I’ll even read you one more story.”

The scene before him suddenly twisted, blurred as if he were looking through… rain. 

“What-” Dean blinked, realizing he was looking out of a window in a motel, rain pounding down against the glass. Although he couldn’t remember the last Christmas he’d had with his parents, as soon as he turned around and looked around the motel room, he knew this one. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, watching as his brother, four years old, crawled into the oversized queen bed an eight year old Dean was sleeping in. 

“Dean!” Sammy whispered, wiggling as he got himself situated beneath the covers, grabbing the front of Dean’s pajamas to give him a little shake. “Dean! Wake up!”

“Wha-what's wrong?” Dean asked, struggling to get his brother off of him so he could sit up. 

“It’s midnight, Dean!” Sam answered, eyes wide as he beamed back. “We didn’t have any cookies… I put out Captain Crunch for the reindeer though. Think Santa will be mad?” 

Dean remembered the feeling he’d had as soon as Sam’s words came through his sleep addled mind. Sam had slept through Christmas Eve night the year before, and Dean had long since expected John to remember to be Santa. He looked over at the front door, seeing his Sketchers and Sam’s, but his father’s boots weren’t there. 

“I… I don’t think Santa will be mad, no,” Dean answered back, shaking his head. “But he’s not going to come if we’re awake, Sammy. We have to go to sleep.” 

Sam sighed, throwing himself down on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. “Think we could pretend?” 

“Nope,” Dean answered, shaking his head. “Santa knows _everything_. Though, heck, we just got to this room last night… he might not know we’re here…”

Sam sat back up in alarm, turning to Dean with a scared expression. “But… you said Santa knows everything! Won’t he know we moved?” 

Dean licked his lips and shrugged, reaching for Sam’s shoulders to push him back down. “Sammy, he might not know where in this room. But you know what he does know? Something that we always have with us, no matter what?” 

Sam pursed his lips, thinking, then smiled. “The car!”

“Exactly!” Dean answered, nodding his head and smiling back. “Even if Santa doesn’t know to come here with presents, he’ll find Dad wherever he is tonight and drop them off in the car.” 

Sam accepted the answer and cuddled back down against Dean’s pillow, pulling the covers up under his throat. Dean smiled at him, watching as his little brother fell asleep, but pinched the underside of his arm every few minutes so that he wouldn’t fall asleep. 

When he was sure Sam was out, Dean slipped off the bed and quietly made his way to the small table to clean up the spray of Captain Crunch that Sam left for the reindeer. He glanced up to make sure Sam was still out cold and then walked over to Sam’s bed, crawling underneath it to pull out a brightly wrapped package. 

The scene began to waver once more, Benny’s hand a cold pressure on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean closed his eyes. 

“Dad actually came through that year,” Dean said softly, knowing without opening his eyes that they were standing back in the bunker kitchen. “He was bleeding and hurt, a hunt went bad, but he got back in time for Christmas morning. He even had a trunk full of presents for us.”

Dean let out a soft laugh and glanced over his shoulder to meet Benny’s gaze. “I’d stolen a box of Lucky Charms from the cabinet, don’t know how I got it past Sammy that the new box Dad bought was suddenly gone… and I took a god awful orange shower curtain from the last motel to wrap it in. I was going to give my four year old brother a box of cereal from Santa Claus.” 

Dean swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. “He would’ve thought it was the greatest, too. My Santa Claus was my father in a goddamn polyester suit, eating cookies and hot cocoa and staying up late. Sam’s was a box of goddamn Lucky Charms.” 

Dean stepped away from Benny, pressing his hands against the countertop and letting out a sigh. “What was the point of that, Benny? What the hell kind of lesson was showing me how much better I had it as a child than Sam did? We already knew that, I got Mom and Dad before he went revenge-crazy, a life before ghosts and demons, filled with bedtime stories and sandwiches without their crusts. Sam didn't get that, he got me as a piss poor excuse, trying as hard as I could to give him some kind of normal life in the shit show we were given.”

Benny was quiet for a moment, though Dean could feel his gaze on his back. Then, he spoke. “What if John hadn’t showed up, Dean? What would Sam have done if Santa had only brought him a box of Lucky Charms?” 

Dean reached up, rubbing a hand across his face. He remembered Sam’s face when he’d opened the box of cereal, knowing it was from his brother. Remembered the way Sam immediately threw his arms around Dean’s neck and loudly declared he was the ‘best big brother ever’. He’d even given Dean a small bowl for breakfast, since it was Christmas after all. 

“Sam… would’ve loved it,” Dean whispered. “He would’ve been impressed Santa knew his favorite cereal, probably would’ve found the wrapping paper funny. He would’ve thought it was the best present ever.” 

He knew without turning around that Benny was gone. The kitchen was warm, but Dean shivered anyways. He turned around, seeing the pajamas still laying in a heap on the ground, and he stared at them for a moment before picking them up and draping them back over the chair. 

He wanted a drink. Or a tranquilizer. He sighed, wondering when the hell he’d gone crazy, but the ache of the chain around his ankle made him shiver for another reason. He brushed his fingers over the pajama pants, wondering what the hell was he supposed to do now?


	3. You Belong

Dean tossed and turned, the blankets making him anxious as they wrapped around his body, reminding him of his father’s chains. At some point, probably when he’d been passed out in the fucking kitchen, Sam had come into his room and taken his stash of alcohol.

Well, either that or he’d drank it.

He’d contemplated heading out into the library and finding himself something to drink, but the effort it would take to get back out of bed and get there, making sure he didn’t wake up Sam on the way down the hallway, just wasn’t worth it.

Instead, he forced himself to lay there and try to sleep. He sighed, frustrated, and flipped over again, reeling back in shock as he was face to face with Charlie Bradbury.

“Jesus Christ!”

“What up, Winchester?” Charlie replied with a smile, propping her head up on her arm and smiling at him in the dark room. “You can just call me Charlie, you know.”

“This isn’t fucking happening,” Dean groaned, flopping back on his back and throwing his arm over his head. “I am completely sober now.”

Beside him, Charlie snorted and Dean rolled his eyes behind his arm. “Well, if you’re sober, this will go a lot faster. Come on, up and at ‘em, cowboy!”

Charlie smacked his thigh, making him jump, the same feeling of behind plunged into ice water washing over him and making him curse. He peered out from beneath his arm, seeing Charlie standing at the end of the bed, studying his walls while she waited.

“You redecorated since I was in here last,” she commented when she saw him looking.

“Last time you were here, you were unconscious.”

She raised a brow and huffed a sigh, then waved her arm out. “You going to just lay there? I can transport you that way, if you’d like. You’ll probably end up landing wrong, though…”

Dean sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “So Benny was Christmas Past, right? What does that make you? Christmas Present?” Charlie nodded, giving him a bright smile and Dean snorted. “Can’t we just take a stroll around the bunker, then? It _is_ Christmas, the present is happening right now.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed, nodding her head, “but you’re so stuck in your own ‘presence’ and honestly? Your presence sucks. You’re miserable, you reek like alcohol and despair, and I could use a change of scenery. So! Up and at ‘em.”

Dean closed his eyes, contemplating his options. He was beyond exhausted and there was no way this was actually happening. Maybe Sam had slipped something into his drink when he wasn’t looking? He’d been a miserable prick the night before… maybe they wanted to make sure he really would be out and down for the count so they didn’t have to put up with his miserable self. Sam drugging him didn’t feel right though, and he sure as hell knew Cas wouldn’t have -- the angel would’ve just knocked him out.

Eileen… no, Eileen had come in a few times before he’d really started drinking, wanting to ‘talk’ and get him to come join them in the library. She would’ve stayed and talked to him all night if Sam hadn’t told her to just let him sit alone and wallow by himself.

He glanced back over at Charlie, the ghost of his friend waiting patiently, just as Benny had. He didn’t get the angle. Maybe he’d touched something cursed? That made more sense than being drugged. But if the curse was to teach him a lesson, weren’t there more direct ways to do it?

Charlie raised her brow again as if she could read his thoughts and Dean forced himself to his feet. He supposed the point of curses were to torture, slow and painful. And although he wished he could actually spend time with Charlie and Benny, hell, even John, this wasn’t that.

“Let's get this over with,” Dean muttered, holding out his hand for Charlie to grab.

She beamed back at him, reaching for him and holding on tight. Dean inhaled, closed his eyes, and grit his teeth as they moved. He exhaled slowly as he opened his eyes and then glared at Charlie who was pulling on the edge of her shirt.

“Is this a joke?”

Charlie glanced at him and shrugged, turning away to hide her smirk. “You said we were already at the present…”

Dean shook his head, walking across his bedroom floor to let them out into the hallway. The lights were all on, letting him know that at most, Charlie had just turned them back a few hours. He made his way to the kitchen and found himself finishing off the last of the eggnog Sam had made, pouring a healthy dose of rum into the glass.

“ _Happy Holidays… Happy Holidays…_ ”

Dean watched himself at the table clenching his jaw, his fingers tightening their grip around his glass. He turned, taking a step out into the hallway and nearly running right into Cas. The angel had a goddamn smile on his face…

“Wait, Cas,” Dean called just as Castiel passed straight through his body. Unlike with Charlie and Benny, he felt flushed, as if he were burning up from the inside out. If he were -- human? In his own time? He had no idea how the fuck this worked -- he would’ve broken out in a sweat.

“They can’t hear us,” Charlie said softly when Dean turned to her in alarm. “You can’t change what happened.”

“ _While the merry bells keep ringing, may your-_ ”

“And what exactly is so ‘happy’ and ‘merry’ about Mom and Jack being gone?”

Dean winced and fell back against the wall. He’d already seen the smile fall away from Cas’ mouth once before, and hearing the tone of his own voice from this position made him sick to his stomach. God, why was he such an asshole?

“Come on,” Charlie said softly, reaching for his arm. Dean hesitated for a moment, then followed after her through the library. The voices of himself and Castiel fell away, Eileen and Sam’s growing louder as they neared the living room.

“He’s just… so frustrating,” Sam sighed, leaning his head back against the chair he was sitting in before straightening up to look at Eileen. Dean and Charlie moved in around the back of the couch. Eileen was sitting on the floor in front of the large douglas fir Castiel and Sam had gotten the day before, a pile of popcorn and cranberries in bowls in front of her.

She paused her stringing and stuck the needle into a piece of popcorn so she could sign as she answered. “He’s in pain, Sam. Your brother has never been good at handling his emotions. He blames himself.”

“No, he blames Jack, and me, and Cas,” Sam replied, shaking his head. Eileen gave him a soft smile and shook her head.

“No, he doesn’t. He projects it, of course. But he doesn’t.” She paused and laid her hands flat on her knees, thinking. Then she untangled herself from the string of popcorn and pushed up off of the ground, taking the chair beside Sam.

“Your brother believes it's his fault. He is to blame because Cas couldn’t talk to him, because you couldn’t,” Eileen signed. “He should’ve seen the signs himself, he should’ve been there to stop it.”

“He can’t be everywhere at once,” Sam argued, shaking his head.

Eileen shrugged and lifted her hands up in a ‘what can I say’ motion, then began signing once more. “He does, though. Your brother takes the world on his shoulders. It’s a heavy burden.”

“Well, he’s a moron,” Sam replied and Eileen gave a small laugh. Dean swallowed hard, looking between them. He avoided Charlie’s gaze, knowing the redhead had her head turned and was looking at him.

“You both are like that,” Eileen said after a moment, drawing Sam’s attention back to her. “You both take on so much, believe everything is up to you. Even though you’re in here with us, part of you is moments away from sitting in there with Dean.”

Sam looked down at his lap, sighing softly. When he looked up, Eileen was smiling at him gently. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Eileen nodded and reached over to pat Sam’s arm, looking up as Castiel entered the living room again carrying a glass bowl of dip. Castiel placed it on the coffee table, retaking up his seat on the couch and picking up his playing cards.

“Where were we?” he asked, eyes focused on the cards in his hands.

Sam glanced over at Eileen, then leaned forward, pushing Cas’ arm down until the angel dropped the cards back on the table and sighed.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“Nothing that I wasn’t expecting,” Castiel muttered back, shaking his head. “Your brother is angry at me, and rightfully so. He expressed his… displeasure at me staying for Christmas.”

“What?” Sam replied, standing up from the chair, only stopping when both Eileen and Cas reached for him. “He can’t say that shit to you Cas, enough is enough!”

“No, Sam, perhaps that was the wrong word,” Cas argued back quickly, nodding at Eileen as she tugged the back of Sam’s shirt until the hunter took his seat again. “He was just… surprised, I guess, that I was staying.”

“Where else would you be? We’re your _family_ , Cas.”

Castiel smiled softly, looking down at his hands, licking his lip slowly. When he looked back up at Sam, Dean turned his head away and finally looked at Charlie, unable to see the unshed tears shining in Cas’ eyes.

“He knows he’s family,” Dean said to her, talking over the hushed reassurances Sam was giving Cas. “He’s always been family.”

Charlie simply nodded, eyes searching Dean’s. He hated her silence, almost as much as the soft broken sob he heard from Cas behind him. He looked back, seeing Sam had pulled Cas to his feet and had enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m sorry Dean’s being such a dick, Cas,” Sam said into his shoulder, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping Cas’ back. “I know he feels the same, you _are_ family. You are _my_ family. You belong here, with us.”

“I just wish… I wish I didn’t keep breaking things,” Castiel answered, hugging Sam back.

“Who of us haven’t broken something?” Eileen countered, signing over Sam’s shoulder. “Mistakes are part of being human, and we always fix things. Together. You and the boys have saved the world, never for even a moment second guess your importance here.”

“I think we can finish up this ‘chick flick moment’,” Charlie broke the silence, pulling Dean’s attention away from his brother and best friend. She gave him a small smile and reached out, touching him on the shoulder and plunging him into ice. Around them, his ragtag family moved around the small living area, each getting up and returning to the living room at super-speed.

When Charlie released him, he surveyed the coffee table and realized that hours had passed. There were three empty bowls of dip and chips, double the amount of empty beers and soda cans, and Eileen was curled up on her oversized armchair, fast asleep.

Sam tossed down the cards in his hand and reached for his beer, draining the rest of it. “You told me you’d never played poker before,” Sam accused, laughing as Castiel smiled back at him, adding his cards to Sam’s and leaning back.

“I think my time in Heaven has helped me perfect my poker face.”

Sam snorted and nodded his head. They sat in a comfortable silence, Castiel looking over at the Christmas tree they’d finished decorating in between hands of poker and after he’d come back from the store for more beer.

“What are you thinking about?” Sam asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Castiel turned his head and gave a small shrug.

“Just… I had a lot of fun tonight,” Castiel answered, giving Sam a smile. “I’ve never been a part of decorating a Christmas tree, we’ve never really done that… even though you and Dean have had the bunker, we’ve always had a hunt or some crisis to deal with. And although we’re still dealing with a crisis, it was nice to be able to step back for a night and… do this.”

Sam nodded, looking over at the Christmas tree. There were baubles and lights they’d bought from the store, the popcorn and cranberry strings Eileen had done up, and paper ornaments Castiel had been surprisingly good at crafting. Sam had even added a pine tree car freshener for nostalgia sake.

“It's a shame Dean decided to miss out,” Sam said after a moment and Dean watched as Cas’ face fell.

“That is probably my fault,” he whispered and Sam immediately snapped his attention over, shaking his head.

“Don’t you dare think that. Dean deciding to drink himself stupid by himself was _his_ choice, not yours. He was able to be a part of this family, he was invited and encouraged to join us. It was _his_ choice not to.”

“But if I wasn’t here-”

“Shut up, Castiel,” Sam cut him off, the tone of his voice making Dean jump. Castiel stared back at him sheepishly and nodded his head. “Thank you,” Sam said softer, pushing up to stand and starting to pick up the bottles.

“For what?” Castiel asked, following suit.

“For being a part of my first _real_ Christmas,” Sam answered, pausing to look at Castiel as he dropped the bottles into the largest bowl. “For being my brother.”

Castiel looked away for a moment, back at the Christmas tree, and for a moment Dean thought he was looking right at him. “Thank you,” Castiel whispered back, “for being mine.”

Dean swallowed hard at the look on Cas’ face, one of acceptance, belonging, one so very different than the last expression _he’d_ put there, as the scene started to wash away. He shivered as he opened his eyes in the darkness of his room, alone save for Charlie who was perched on the edge of his bed watching him.

“Well? What’s the lesson there, Charlie? I know I’m a dick, thanks for showing me,” Dean asked after a moment, turning away and ignoring her sigh. “You going to leave me with some unanswered question to make me think?”

“No,” Charlie answered simply and Dean did look at her for that. “The feeling you have right now? The one that’s making you angry, the one that's making you lash out at me?” She shrugged and stood, clapping her hands in front of her. “You’re a dick, Winchester.”

“Oh fuck you!” Dean called out, but Charlie was gone.


	4. Forget Me Not

“Boy, I ain’t got the time for you to take your sweet time. Get up!”

Dean jumped as the lights in his room were turned on, making him wince and draw back, Missouri Mosely standing over the edge of the bed with her hands on her hips and brow raised. 

“You heard me, get up!” She reached out, smacking one of his legs and stepping back to give him room to sit up. “And don’t you dare think about sassing me, boy.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, untangling his legs from the blankets and reaching up to run sleep from his eyes. 

“You’d have more sympathy from him,” Missouri quipped back. Dean looked and glared at her, the older woman completely unphased. He stared back in challenge for a few seconds, then sighed and looked away. Though he noticed the smirk on her face as he did so. God, he missed her just as much as the rest of the ‘spirits’... 

“So what are you, the ghost of Christmas future?” Dean asked as he stood, stretching his arms over his head and popping his back. 

“In simple terms,” Missouri replied, holding out her hand. “I’ve always had an eye for possibilities. That’s what this is, Dean. It's a possibility. As you and I both know, our choices can change our fates, and what is written may not always be what comes to pass.”

“But if I stay on ‘this path’, right?” Dean asked, watching Missouri nod and smile. She wiggled her fingers at him and Dean sighed, lifting his hand to place into hers. He closed his eyes and squeezed Missouri’s hand, gritting his teeth against the sensation. 

“I did _exactly_ what you asked me to!”

Dean jumped, his eyes flying open as he heard Castiel screaming. He almost _never_ heard the angel raise his voice and he took a step back, as if this future Castiel was yelling at him instead of, well, _him_. The anger and hurt in his eyes were palpable, his fists clenched at the sides of his trenchcoat, a single tear of frustration slipping down his cheek.

Dean turned in alarm to survey the rest of the room. They were all in the bunker’s main room, Castiel and his future self standing off with one another on either side of the map table, Sam sitting on the edge with a bag of ice pressed to his forehead. 

“Guys,” Sam said softly, but future-Dean pushed right over him. 

“Oh, so you can’t think for yourself now? You did everything I said, sure, but when the situation changes-”

“Oh, that’s funny coming from you! First, you want me to listen and obey, to not stray from the path you’ve set forth. You don’t want me to make decisions based upon the situation at hand because we can ‘figure it out after’. And now you’re pissed off that I did just that?” 

“God, Cas!” future-Dean yelled, whipping his jacket from his shoulders and throwing it over the table. He turned around, running his hands through his hair and tugging at the short strands before turning back around and crossing the distance between them. Dean winced as he watched himself poke Castiel hard in the chest, their faces inches apart. 

“You’re not a goddamn child, Castiel! You’re not a puppet on a string like you were up in Heaven. You have a goddamn mind so-”

“You’re so infuriating! You just want to blame me for everything because you can’t take responsibility for your own actions-”

Dean jerked backwards at the crack of his future self’s fist against Castiel’s jaw, Missouri a hard, cool presence at his back. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, tossing the ice down and yanking his brother back angrily, turning to help Cas straighten himself up from where he stumbled. 

“Our lives would’ve been better if we’d never met you, Castiel,” Dean hissed, shaking out his hand and spinning around angrily, ripping his jacket from the table before storming out of the room. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean whispered to Missouri, then louder, Sam and Castiel unphased. 

“They can’t hear you,” Missouri supplied helpfully and Dean glared at her before crossing the room to stand over them. 

“He doesn’t mean it,” Sam whispered, reaching up for the bag of ice and pressing it to Cas’ jaw. “Here, it will help. Unless you want to use-”

“No,” Castiel whispered back, shaking his head and accepting the bag of ice. “I don’t want to use my powers for that.” He was silent for a moment and closed his eyes, another tear slipping free before he pulled away from Sam. “Your brother is right. Nothing has ever been right in your lives since I arrived. I couldn’t even take care of the one mission I had after I saved Dean. I have never been able to follow simple directions, which is why I was a bad soldier, why I was a bad friend.”

“Cas, come on. You know that’s not true!” Sam argued quickly, scrambling up from his crouch to follow after Castiel. 

“I… I need to be alone right now, Sam. I need to think.”

Sam nodded and fell back, watching Castiel’s back disappear down the hallway. Dean stood, torn, staring after the empty hall and looking back at his brother. 

“Follow him,” Missouri said softly, nodding her head. 

Dean gave Sam one last glance, then tore off after Castiel, finding the angel slipping into one of their magical supply rooms. The door was promptly shut in his face but with one look at Missouri, Dean felt himself blush and he walked through the door. 

Castiel was mumbling to himself, pulling ingredients off the shelves, collecting them in a large pewter bowl. There was a small table in the room for crafting and he laid the supplies there for a moment, staring down at his goods as if he were running through a mental checklist. Then, Dean followed after him as he went to his room. 

Dean hesitated once again at the door, this time for another reason. It went unspoken that there was always privacy in the bunker behind the closed bedroom doors. Sam and Dean growing up _never_ had that and it was something Dean respected. Castiel had always followed the unspoken rule and Dean’s stomach twisted with guilt as he stepped through the closed, heavy oak. 

“I suppose I can’t betray much more of his privacy than spying on him,” he muttered but Missouri stayed silent behind him, her eyes never leaving Castiel’s hands. 

The angel was perched on the edge of the bed, laying things out in a neat row. He seemed torn and Dean almost asked him what he was doing. Then, he started to move, mixing and measuring things into the bowl, chanting in soft Enochian. He slipped his angel blade free and continued chanting, then turned the blade on himself.

“Wait!” Dean exclaimed, darting forward in an attempt to knock the blade away when he realized Castiel wasn’t going for his palm or his wrist. His body slipped through Castiel’s, sprawling him on the bedroom floor at Castiel’s feet, and looking up in horror as the angel’s last whips of bright blue grace were spilled from his throat. 

“Sam,” Dean whispered, turning in alarm to Missouri. “I need to get Sam! Sam!”

Missouri stayed, shaking her head as Dean tore through the wall, running down the hallway to the map room. Sam wasn’t there and he forced himself to steady his breathing, unable to hear anything over the sound of his own breath and the beating of his heart. He didn’t know what Castiel was up to, but he knew it was nothing good. 

He heard the sound of china clinking and he darted for the kitchen, hoping it was Sam he would find and not himself. 

“Sam!” Dean yelled, pushing himself in front of his brother who was stirring a mug of hot tea. He waved his arms, punching his fists through Sam’s chest and face. “Goddamn it, Sam! We pick up on spirits for a fucking living! SAM!”

Sam sighed softly, clinking the spoon against the side of the mug before slipping it into the sink. When he lifted the mug, Dean sent off a silent prayer that he was bringing it to Castiel; Sam didn’t usually drink tea, but maybe…

He followed after Sam down the hallway, Missouri standing a silent vigil outside of Castiel’s bedroom. 

“Make me… here!” Dean fired at her, pushing through Sam to stand in front of the woman. 

“This isn’t your time,” she answered simply, shaking her head. 

“Like hell this isn’t my time. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I need to stop this!”

“You’re right,” Missouri agreed, nodding her head. “And you will have that chance. But not at this time.”

Dean glared at her, contemplating throttling her. She raised a brow and slowly shook her head, daring him silently. He closed his eyes, the sound of a soft knock behind him making his heart soar. 

“Cas?” Sam said softly, leaning his forehead against the door. “I… please let me in.”

Sam was met with silence and Dean held his breath. Then, slowly, the door creaked open. 

“I am only letting you in because you won’t remember,” Castiel said in greeting and Dean was as confused as Sam’s expression. 

“What?” Sam asked, then jerked back in surprise. “Cas, your grace… what are you doing?” 

The angel sighed, holding the door open wide and stepping back, letting Sam in. Dean slipped through the wall again, the bowl shining innocently with swirls of blue and gold making Dean’s stomach hurt. 

“Your brother made himself very clear and I agree with him.”

“Cas, you’re family,” Sam whispered, setting the mug down on the bedside table. His eyes trailed over the spellwork on the bed, then returned to Castiel. 

“I’m not Sam, I’ve never been. I used to be useful, an ally. But family?” Castiel let out a sharp bark of a laugh and Dean flinched at the sound. “I’m a burden.”

“No, you’re not,” Dean whispered as Sam replied, “Cas, please.”

Castiel shook his head, turning away from Sam and looking towards the bed. “No, Sam. I loved you and your brother. I fell for you and I don’t regret it.” He turned again, giving Sam a soft smile and Dean ached to reach out. “God has abandoned us, it seems hopeless… I understand where your brother is coming from. But my faith?” Castiel’s voice lowered even further and he stepped towards Sam, pressing a hand to the center of his chest. “My faith is forever more with the Winchesters. I believe in you and Dean more than I have ever believed in anything else. I don’t expect or need that in return.”

“I do believe in you, Cas. I believe in us, our team.” Sam reached forward, grabbing Castiel’s arm and stopping him from stepping back. “You’re a Winchester, too.”

Castiel smiled sadly and it made Dean want to scream. “This is what I need to do.”

Sam shook his head, furrowing his brow. “What… what are you doing?” 

“Unlike with the Braden’s, is much harder to erase a celestial being,” Castiel trailed off, his eyes scanning over to the bowl on the bed. 

“I don’t - what? No! Castiel, you can’t be serious.”

Castiel twisted out of Sam’s arm and walked towards the bed. 

“Stop him, Sam! Stop him!” Dean whispered, stepping close to his brother’s back, his eyes wide as he watched Castiel pick up the bowl. 

“Don’t do this,” Sam pleaded, stepping forward. “Don’t do this, Cas!”

“I have to, Sam.”

“Not to me then,” Sam shook his head violently, reaching out to hold the otherside of the bowl. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t… I can’t stop you, I know that. But I’m begging you, don’t do this to me. I don’t _want_ to forget you. You’re my family, Castiel. You will always be my family! And… and what if you need help? What if you need your family and you’ve erased yourself from us?” 

Dean flicked his eyes between Sam and Cas, seeing the hesitation in the angel’s eyes. 

“I…”

“I’ll keep your secret, I won’t speak a word of you, of how much you have changed my life, _our lives_ , for the better. I won’t contact you or bother you, but if you need me… Damn it, I’ll always be here, Cas.”

Castiel swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering closed as he debated with himself. Then, finally, he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, voice breaking on the one word. “I won’t erase your memories of me.” 

Sam looked pained, but he released the bowl and stepped back. He shook his head when Castiel opened his mouth. “I’m not leaving, I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Castiel nodded and turned to the side, speaking softly in Enochian over the spell. It flared a bright pink before returning to the bright blue and gold of before. Dean watched, helpless, as Castiel left the room, Sam trailing silently behind him. They walked to room 11 and Dean closed his eyes as they slipped inside. 

“Do you want to leave?” Missouri asked softly behind him and Dean wanted to scream at her ‘Yes!’ He wanted to run away, he wanted to find Castiel right now and tell him if he _ever_ did this, he would kill him with his bare hands. He wanted to shake Sam for letting it happen. 

Instead, he ignored her and pushed forward. Castiel placed the bowl down on the dresser, looking at future-Dean, passed out on his stomach, a look of discontent on his face, even in sleep. Dean wanted to scream, but he could only watch as Castiel finished off the spell, the light fizzing out into a powder blue smoke that filled the room. 

“Take care of him, Sam,” Castiel whispered, their faces obscured by the smoke. 

“Take care of yourself,” Sam answered back. 

Missouri’s hand was cold against his shoulder, ripping him away from the cloud of blue smoke. He looked around the new scene, shaking his head when he realized they weren’t back in the bunker. “How can there be more? What else could you possibly show me now?” Dean turned away from her, eyes trailing over the beat up motel room that could’ve been anywhere from Northern Maine to Southern Texas, Sam sitting at the small writing table with his head in his hands. 

Sam leaned back, picking up his cellphone and hitting the call button. Dean rolled his eyes at Missouri who shoved him forward but took the steps to Sam’s side. 

_“You’ve reached the voicemail box of: Uh, my name? Castie-- Please leave a message after the tone.”_

“Cas, you were supposed to call me back…” Sam said softly, sighing. “You said the hunt was basically a salt and burn… It’s been four days.” Sam hesitated again then sighed before pulling the phone back and hanging up. The phone immediately started ringing and Sam jumped, hitting the answer button. 

“Cas? Cas! Are you okay?” 

_“This is Sergeant Barnes from the Essex County Police Department.”_

“Where’s Castiel?” Sam whispered, covering his face with his hands. Dean closed his eyes, knowing if the police were answering Cas’ cell phone… 

_“There’s been an accident…”_

Dean walked away, pushing past Missouri and out of the motel. He didn’t need to hear what happened, didn’t need to see Sam fall apart, didn’t need to listen to how Castiel lost his life --

“Where’s…. Where is his body?”

Dean startled, spinning around. He was back in the motel room, standing beside his brother despite the fact he’d been walking away from the motel. 

“Take me home,” he demanded, turning around and glaring at Missouri. The woman stared back at him, silent, and Dean glared and stormed off, swearing when the parking lot once again turned into Sam’s room. 

“I understand. I can be there by tomorrow afternoon,” Sam said softly, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Sam hung up the phone and sat back in his chair, staring at the window before him. Then, suddenly, he whipped the phone across the room, crumpling in on himself with a broken sob. Dean stood over his brother helplessly, staring at his shaking shoulders. 

If Sam’s in a hotel room, that means they’re on a hunt and hopefully his future self just ran out to grab a bite to eat… he stared at the door instead, willing it to open. 

It felt like an eternity before it finally did, the key clicking into the lock and the door swinging open to reveal Eileen. She was smiling as she entered but it immediately fell along with the bag of food she was carrying. 

“What happened?” she signed and spoke, falling to her knees in front of Sam’s chair and reaching for his cheeks to lift his head. “Sam? Is it your friend, Cas?” 

Sam just nodded and accepted the hug Eileen gave him, folding himself small into her arms, a position a man so big shouldn’t have been able to do. Dean was glad his brother had Eileen but… where the fuck was _he_? 

“I wish I could have known him,” Eileen said softly. “That I could have _re_ known him.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed, nodding his head. He pulled back, wiping his face on his sleeve and turning his head up to the ceiling. Eileen gave him a moment to compose himself, then got off the floor to pick up their food and close the motel door. 

“You would’ve loved him,” Sam said softly after a moment. “You would’ve found him endearing, would’ve loved his sense of humor. I think you guys would’ve gotten along great.”

Eileen smiled softly and returned to Sam’s side, slipping up onto the table. Sam turned, laying his head on her lap and closing his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. 

“Do you think,” she said slowly, fingers pausing, “we should tell Dean?” 

Sam stiffened and sat up, shaking his head before he was even looking back at her. “I haven’t spoken to Dean in three years,” Sam replied, swallowing thickly. “He doesn’t remember Cas, doesn’t remember how important he was. And it…” Sam trailed off and shook his head again. “When Cas took Dean’s memories, Dean became jaded, angry. I mean, you saw it.”

“I know,” Eileen whispered, cupping Sam’s cheek again. 

“I lost both of my brothers that day.”

The sound that escaped Dean had nothing to do with the swooping sensation of Missouri pulling him back through time. He turned to her with wide, blurred eyes and fell back onto the bed. “There’s no way that’s real,” he whispered, wincing as she gave a small snort. 

“Oh honey, like I said… it's a possibility. Right now, it's the most guaranteed path you’re on.” She shook her head, sitting down beside him and straightening out her shirt. “Each one of your father’s chains are mistakes he made, regrets. Pulling you both from town to town, missing elementary school concerts, high school dances. Telling you to buck up when you were hurt instead of cry, telling Sam he would be disappointed if he went to college. Your father, well, his life revolved around a single thing and he missed out on _life_ because of it. It’s a heavy burden.” 

Dean shook his head, clearing his throat before pulling away and standing. He faced the wall, reaching for the light switch and hesitating over it. “I… I want to be alone.”

She was gone before he’d even finished.


	5. Winchester Unchained

Dean gasped awake, panic flooding every one of his senses. He couldn’t _breathe_. 

He opened his eyes and for a moment, thought his room was on fire; all he could see was bright flashes of orange and yellow, his skin felt like it was burning. Then, he recognized the intense pressure on his chest, the sound of metal grinding against itself. 

“Dad!” Dean gasped out, fingers pulling at the chains, trying to haul them off his chest. He could distantly hear John Winchester’s voice in his head, but he couldn’t decipher a single word. After everything, he was going to die -- it didn’t matter what the future would bring any more, at least if this were the case, Castiel would live, Sam would still have his home. 

As suddenly as the weight was there, the chains were gone, leaving Dean blinking into utter darkness. 

The sound of his breathing was loud in his ears and he stayed, frozen on the bed, too afraid to sit up or look around in case the chains came back. Then, the sound of them scraping against the concrete floor, unmuffled despite the rug Dean had spread out beneath the bed, made him jerk back and press against the headboard. 

“That is only a taste of what the chains feel like,” John whispered, coming into view. His body was glowing a pale, green. If Dean wasn’t sure it was his bed he was feeling beneath him, he would’ve thought he was somewhere else entirely. All he could see was his father, dripping in chains that sparked against his skin. 

“I don’t want them!” Dean fired back, scooting further away on the bed as John came closer. 

“Love is the most powerful emotion, son,” John spoke again, stopping just at the edge of the mattress, “it's also the most dangerous. For once you allow yourself to love another person completely, it consumes you. When you lose that love…I was given the greatest gift any man could possess, a partner that loved me more than anything and one that blessed me with that love. And yet, when she was gone… I forsook her.”

Dean shook his head, searching his father’s eyes as he did so. “No, you loved her, Dad. You continued to love her--”

“What I did after Mary was gone from this world was not love, Dean,” John argued, his voice taking on a hint of steel. “I could have chosen to let our love live on through _you_ , through the two children our love created. Instead, I was driven to madness.” 

John lifted his arms, the chains groaning in protest at the movement, dripping from his shoulders. “It is a heavy burden and my biggest mistake.”

Dean swallowed hard, looking away from his father. His hands were in complete shadows and he clenched them in his lap. 

“You are letting life pass you by, Dean.”

Dean looked up again, narrowing his eyes at John. “Are you telling me to stop hunting? Because I tried that life, Dad. I tried and I _failed_.”

John shook his head sadly, his arms falling back to his sides. “Is that what you took out of those lessons, Dean?”

Dean swallowed hard. No, other than Castiel’s life ending in the future due to a hunt, Dean hadn’t thought of hunting at all. He allowed his mind to drift through his trip with Benny, Charlie, and Missouri, how he felt realizing he was standing on the outside, holding his family at an arm's length. At the way he felt when Castiel erased himself, albeit in a ‘dream’, from Dean’s memory. How watching Castiel’s face fall, hearing how hurt he was, how hurt Dean made him feel when all Dean truly wanted was to tell him --

“I’m losing the only people that matter to me,” he whispered into the darkness. “I’m losing my family, I’m losing… God, I’m losing the man that I love.” 

He blinked up, meeting his father’s eyes. John stared back at him, the silence between them heavy, before light exploded forward from his father’s form. 

Dean yelled, jerking back, the feeling of chains back around his throat. “No! No, I can fix this, I _can_!”

“Dean!” Hands were at his shoulders, moving to his throat, and Dean flailed harder, trying to free himself of them. “Dean, _Dean_ , stop!”

Dean gasped, his eyes flying open before squinting at the bright light, his brother’s face full of concern only inches from his. 

“Dean, calm the fuck down! What the hell are you doing?” 

Dean froze and Sam moved slowly, reaching up and untangling the chains from Dean’s throat. Dean looked down and saw the pant legs of the pajama pants in Sam’s hands. Then he looked around and realized he was sitting in the kitchen chair. 

“I…” Dean started, then shook his head, shoving up to his feet and making Sam jump back in alarm. “What day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Christmas, Dean. Did you really drink that much?”

“Christmas…” Dean trailed off, then broke out into a smile, throwing his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pulling him in closer. “It’s Christmas, Sammy!”

“Yes…” Sam agreed, hesitating a moment before hugging him back. “Are you okay?”

“I am, Sam. I really, really am. I just…” Dean shook his head, squeezing Sam harder before pulling back. “I’m sorry I missed out on games last night. I just -”

“Dean, you don’t have to apologize,” Sam answered, but the smile he gave showed Dean how much he appreciated and was surprised by the gesture. 

“I do have to, Sam. And I _am_ sorry. I love you, man.”

Sam blinked at him, nodding his head slowly. “Now I know you’ve had way too much to drink.”

“Shut up,” Dean said, nudging Sam’s shoulder before taking the pajamas from his hands. “I feel good this morning, really. And I just… I don’t tell you enough, you know?” 

Sam swallowed hard and nodded his head, turning away to pull a package of bacon and a carton of eggs from the fridge. Dean smiled at his back and almost missed it when Sam said, “Me too, Dean. I… I love you too.”

Dean nodded at him and turned away, calling over his shoulder that he’d be right back. He passed Eileen coming down the hallway and he spun her around, calling Merry Christmas as he kissed her cheek. He made a pit stop in his bedroom to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, then changed into the pajama pants before heading towards Cas’ room. He knocked on the heavy door and waited.

Then, he knocked again, his heart sinking in his chest. 

“No, no, no,” Dean whispered, knocking harder. What if he was too late, what if Cas really _had_ left? What if he ruined everything and --

“Dean?” 

Dean jumped and spun around, Cas coming down from the opposite end of the hall, hair wet and towel hanging over his shoulders from a shower. 

“Are you okay? Is everything-”

“Cas!” Dean breathed out, nearly tripping over his feet as he moved to close the distance between them. Castiel hesitated, but didn’t draw back, his face a well concealed mask as he stared back at Dean, waiting. “God, Cas, you’re here.”

A flicker of irritation passed over the angel’s eyes and he sighed, looking away from Dean’s face. “Yes, like I told you last night, Dean. Your brother asked me-”

Dean reached up, touching Castiel’s chin and drawing his face back up, effectively silencing him. Cas’ skin was warm, stubble pricking at Dean’s fingers, and he slipped his hand higher up, cupping Cas’ cheek.

“No,” Dean whispered, shaking his head. He took half a step closer, Castiel letting out a surprised huff of air that Dean could feel against his lips. His eyes were wide but Dean recognized the hope in them; the same hope he’d been ignoring for _years_. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Dean felt Castiel swallow, watched his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. They’d been here before, just like this, and then Dean would pull away or Sam would interrupt. Dean’s gaze moved from Cas’ lips to his eyes, hoping he could convey every single thing he was feeling right then and there. 

Regret. Promise. Gratitude. Love. 

Castiel let out a soft sob as Dean pulled him in, closing the distance between them completely as he pressed their lips together. Castiel’s hands came up between them and for a moment, Dean was sure he was going to shove him away. Then his fingers tightened in Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer, holding onto him tight. 

Dean kissed him with everything he had, fingers moving up to wipe the tears on Castiel’s cheeks away. “I’m sorry,” Dean whispered against his mouth, arms coming around Cas’ shoulders and holding him close. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m sorry for everything… for how I treated you, for how -”

“It’s okay,” Cas answered, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s okay, I understand.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Dean argued back, kissing him once more before pulling back to meet his eyes. “It’s not okay, but I want to make it up to you.”

Castiel let out another soft noise, nodding his head quickly. “Okay,” he whispered, smiling as Dean wiped his cheeks clear again.

\---

The kitchen smelled of bacon when Dean walked back in, Castiel freshly dressed trailing behind him. Eileen looked up from buttering slices of toast, glancing between the pair before a wide smile broke out on her lips. She met Dean’s eyes and nodded, returning to her job with the same smile still on her face. 

“Oh! Good,” Sam said when he saw them, nodding at Cas, “I was just going to send Eileen to get you guys. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel answered, moving around the island to reach up and pull out plates from the cabinet. Dean waited on the other side, avoiding the glances Eileen was throwing at him. He accepted the stack of plates from Castiel and moved to set the table, Cas following after him with silverware and glasses. 

Dean ignored Eileen sighing frantically behind them to Sam and paused in setting the table to watch Castiel. The angel was smiling softly, humming the same Christmas carol he had been the night before. He watched Castiel, missing Eileen accusing Sam of meddling, his brother simply shrugging and smiling with a simple, “It was Rowena’s spell” signed back to her. God, he couldn’t wait another minute...

“I’m in love with you, Cas.”

Castiel dropped the fork he was setting out, his face jerking up to look at Dean in surprise. 

Dean only smiled back at him. He didn’t want there to be any hesitation, any doubt in Castiel’s mind about what this was. He put the last plate down, then moved around the table to stand in front of Cas. 

“I love you.”

The look Castiel gave back to him, his whispered, “I love you too, Dean,” removed the rest of the invisible weight on Dean’s shoulders. This was home, this was family, and this was love. 

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
